


As the Smoke Rises Pt One

by PhoenixDragon



Series: As the Smoke Rises [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, M/M, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-05
Updated: 2006-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of his will, his effort, focused and concentrated on the next half-inch, the next inch, the next foot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Smoke Rises Pt One

  
_Crawling…_

All of his will, his effort, focused and concentrated on the next half-inch, the next inch, the next foot. Pain, the slickness that oozed underneath him as he pulled himself along on his hands, the scrape of the polished floor against the wound in his chest, his utter exhaustion – all swept away as his perception narrowed to the cramped movements of his hands – his eyes riveted to the bunch and push of his knuckles, tracking his progress across the miles of parquet flooring – one tiny bit at a time.

He would get there, he knew… To do otherwise was death – to do otherwise was to be the man his father had always known him to be. A fresh flare of hatred propelled him another few feet, his face contorted in the grim smile of a death's head – the rictus of what he was determined to not become, as he called on another hatred – this one so ancient, and yet so fresh, it bled as surely as the stab wound he now suffered.

It bled, and it hurt – and it was never ending. It had only recently begun to heal – only to be torn asunder again – less than a week ago, in fact – and with this… **disaster** …the gap had only widened.

He had known it would fail.

And he had sacrificed him, anyway.

 _Somehow, he couldn't be amused by the irony of it all – to have come so far, achieved so much – only to be tossed to the side like so much refuse when it all came down. To be denied the satisfaction of meeting his fate, his end, on equal footing._

Just a few more feet – and his plan would be moot, anyway. Just a few more feet – and Angel, his father – would both be proven wrong. This thought brought a fresh smile to his face and renewed adrenaline to his weary limbs.

Just a few more feet – and he would be redeemed...

  
He was still smiling that death's head smile, while he watched that fateful corner of Los Angeles burn.

He had survived, he had lived – but what for, he didn't know.

The concussion of the main blast had blown the windows out as far as this building – which was a good two to three miles from the fall-out zone – so his view of the destruction was unobscured by the warped and dingy glass of the building.

He would often come here to think, to be alone without the pressure of the next incoming crisis – knowing full well he was flirting with danger, as the building was beyond condemned – it's dilapidated and tired appearance welcoming the slightest breeze to blow it down. Imagine his surprise to find it still standing. The old wreck still had some sturdy bones in it after all.

Well, that made two of them.

He rubbed absently at the area that had been, until a mere two hours ago, a gaping wound, and contemplated the disaster below, his observation detached and musing, though he couldn't deny a faint twinge of sadness to see it all go up in smoke, as it were. He had grown rather attached to this city – it was a shame to see it destroyed in such a way.

It was a shame to see it all destroyed.

The scorched ruins of the business district coughed with an audible crackle and belched another plume of smoke, the fire's insatiable appetite consuming yet another building, another half a block of civilization as he had known it. It was almost too bad that the carnage was so beautiful in it's completeness, it's utter lack of remorse as it swallowed more and more of the surrounding area – but this only confirmed the belief that horror, in its entirety, was always hypnotic and graceful in its own way.

Birth and death – how they mirrored each other in their beauty and ugliness – how final they were in their thoroughness.

Being newly reborn himself, he felt he had the right to think such things – its not every day that you realize that mass destruction is your vehicle for salvation –

But then, it's not every day that you resurrect yourself from the dead, either.

The supra-heated air shifted and wavered, the sky the metallic, smoky lead of smoke and debris. Funny how when you think of fire, you think of flames, leaping, bright – dancing orange glows of warmth and peace. But the reality was a choking thick mass of blue black, with little ripples of red and mauve underneath, the barest of flickers to punctuate what it was, exactly, that you were looking at.

A shuffling footstep from behind. Hesitant. Weighing the advantages over the disadvantages… Trying to find the right words? The right answers?

Wesley was too weary to care, as his eyes followed the next tongue of ashes and smoke to the stratosphere – his body and soul as weary as his mind. He couldn't do it for him, he couldn't save him – he could barely save himself.

 _'I need you to do this for me, Wes. You are the only one who can.'_

He felt his lip curl at the unbidden memory – the twitch of his mouth causing the merest ripple in the rigid grin-scream that had frozen itself to his facial muscles… He didn't have the time, or the patience for this. Not now. Maybe not ever. But his mind played with that plea, tossing it around, trying to twist it to be justifiable – trying to save face for the creature that had set him out to die.

 _The only one who can._

Sure. Of course. More than happy to oblige, like the good little pet hound that I am – that I have become. No, no, no – going up against an adversary that was a pure natural at dark magicks, with the added bonus of two-three centuries underneath its belt with which to practice said art – and was therefore craftier, adept and capable at throwing the fireworks with the flick of a wrist – was a walk in the park, a stroll through the garden.

His grin widened as the footsteps edged closer, the pauses in between footfalls becoming fewer and fewer, as the vampire made his decision.

" I can hear you, you know." Another shuffling pause as the creature sucked in a breath, surprise evident in its very silence. Wesley huffed a small chuckle deep in his chest at the almost comic aspect of such a thing. You'd think a creature that hadn't needed to breath for the last couple of centuries, would drop such a human affectation such as gasps of fear or shock – it was really quite unbecoming to the dignity of something that lived veritably forever – it smacked of the stench of mortality. Wesley would have sniffed in derision if he wasn't too busy enjoying the baffling irony of the situation.

Angel. Human. Not in his best nightmares.

Not after the last couple of years, that was for sure.

He just wondered how it had taken him so long to really notice…


End file.
